


Afternoon Shower

by flaubertienne



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: M/M, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-24
Updated: 2019-06-24
Packaged: 2020-05-18 22:59:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19344418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flaubertienne/pseuds/flaubertienne
Summary: The moment Bucky Barnes lays his eyes on the small, slouched figure crouching by the stream, dipping his hands in the cool, green water, he knows that he was the son of the woman who lives in the small, cottage on the outskirts of town.





	Afternoon Shower

**Author's Note:**

> This story is inspired by Hwang Sun-won's Sonagi, or Rain Shower, which tells of a love between a young boy and a girl. As always, concrit is welcomed!

**Monday**

 

The moment Bucky Barnes lays his eyes on the small, slouched figure crouching by the stream, dipping his hands in the cool, green water, he knows that he was the son of the woman who lives in the small, cottage on the outskirts of town.

 

The family, an odd crew of pallid faces and badly fitted clothing, arrived in town a few weeks ago, and every day as Bucky passes the river on the way to work, he sees the young man playing in it, splashing about. Perhaps he has never seen a river before he moved here.

 

Today, he is on the stepping stones already, humming a wordless tune as he grazes with his toes the surface of the water.

 

As much as Bucky would like to continue his journey, for he is keenly aware that he is staring at a stranger, he realises he couldn't tear his eyes away from the curious sight, at once both innocent yet precocious.

 

The young man suddenly grabs for something in the water, and Bucky thought he must have spotted a fish, when suddenly a small, sharp pain seizes him at his left temple.

 

A smooth pebble, grey with a single, black streak, had bounced off his head, landing in a blunt thud on the path.

 

"Hey!" He looks up at the young man again, and their eyes met.

 

Without a word, an excuse, or an explanation, Bucky hurries on his way to work, but not before pocketing the smooth pebble from the dusty road.

 

He doesn't know that as he leaves, the young man stands, looking at his retreating back.

 

**Tuesday**

 

He passes the river again today, as he always does. But this time, he does not stop. Though he feels the eyes of the young man searing onto his sides, he pretends to look forward, at the thin trees where small, pink flowers have started to bloom.

 

His hand though, is tucked in the folds of his coat, where the pebble nestled in a warm blanket of wool and yearning.

 

**Wednesday**

 

The pebble finds its place on his bedside drawer, amidst his other things: glasses, a pair of earrings that belonged to his late mother, and a half-burnt candle.

 

In the yellow lamplight, the pebble seems to have come to life, bearing its own sullen glow, a wash of grey and black, rather like its brief, previous owner.

 

**Thursday**

 

Bucky walks over to the river, and tentatively, with the same anxiety as a bird flying for the first time, dips his fingers into the green cool as he had watched the young man did for so many times.

 

The soft stream brushes against his hand, steadily insistent in its determination to sail forward towards an unknown body of water beyond this town.

 

He starts on the stepping stones, careful not to slip into the river as his bare feet slides around its mossy glaze. An inquisitive cichlid bobs its head on the top of the water, its mouth opening as if to say something, before scurrying away beneath a rock.

 

"Hey!" It is a familiar voice, the same one that accompanied a pebble two days ago. He pretends not to hear.

 

"What sort of fishes are those?" the young man asks, jutting a finger into his sight. Despite himself, Bucky finds himself looking up to search for the eyes of the young man. And once he does, he does not look away.

 

"It's a jewel fish."

 

"That's a pretty name."

 

A brief silence passes. This time, a tadpole twists to the surface of a water, an aquatic tango that barely creates ripples in the water.

 

"Say, have you been to the other side of the fields?" The young man points at the stretch of corn beside the river.

 

"No, I haven't"

 

"Shall we go then?"

 

"I have work."

 

"So do I," he says, unconcerned, but his eyes are alight with a light mocking, the same kind of mocking that only a child can give an adult.

 

The young man begins heading for the fields, cutting past Bucky as he deftly skips across the stepping stones, and disappearing into the patch of yellow and green. Bucky follows.

 

The air here is filled with the sweetness of unripe corn, for its not in season yet, but insects of all kinds buzz in excitement anyway, some even beginning to feast on the light green leaves. Bucky can hardly spot the small, dark figure that blurs into a grey shape as the young man zips deeper in the field.

 

The ground beneath their feet begins to incline, and suddenly the corn gives way to an empty field, a burst of relief and sunlight. Weeds and flowers seem to grow in all directions haphazardly.

 

The young man picks at some berries from the ground, and offers one to Bucky.

 

"Thimbleberries."

 

He takes one, and puts it in his mouth. Immediately comes a burst of sour tang and tartness. He spits it out, scratching his tongue with his teeth where the sensation was.

 

"They're not very nice."

 

The young man mimics his actions a second later in agreement. "No, I don't think so."

 

They head towards the centre of the field where a wild patch of flowers have grown, purple and pink and white dotting the washes of green. Bucky spots a familiar bloom of wispy pink petals and plucks them, holding them up towards the young man.

 

"Pink carnations," the young man smiles, accepting the gift and twirling the soft stem in his fingers. "Do you know what they mean?"

 

"I'll never forget you."

 

This time, the chirps of locusts and crickets fill their silence. Then, almost too cheerfully, the young man tucks the flower behind his ear, and traipses off into the distance again.

 

Bucky follows, and along the way collects a bouquet, the most uncoordinated bouquet he has ever seen: carnations, daisies, poppies, buckwheat. The young man has spotted a tangle of vines where the field dipped into a valley, and begins to tug at them.

 

He stashes the bouquet in his coat and rushes over to help. The young man kneels on the grass for more traction, garnering a few scratches on his feet. He barely seems to notice the small pricks of blood as he pulls out a series of odd looking flowers.

 

Almost by clockwork, Bucky applies his lips on the fresh wound, stemming the blood flow, before diving his hands into his pocket for a hankerchief to tie it around his feet.

 

"There are some cottages over there," the young man says, when he is done.

 

The rest of his words are cut short by a rumble overhead; the sky, which had been marred with grey clouds in their excursion, opens to a shower, drenching the landscape before them.

 

Bucky peels the coat of his shoulders, and immediately they head for the cottage below, diving under one of the thatched eaves.

 

Their wet shirts cling to their bodies as they hurry to find some form of heat, but none was in sight. The young man shivers from the cold, so Bucky offers his coat. A few seconds later, he realises belatedly that he might have as well doused a bucket of cold water on the young man, for the coat was as soaking wet as the both of them were. But still, the young man thanks him, and wraps himself up in the folds of wool. His small frame is almost swallowed by the large coat, but Bucky thinks he looks rather at home in it.

 

The shower stops as soon as it appears, and because of the cuts on his feet, Bucky offers to carry the man across the river, which is now flooded and filled with even more fishes.

 

He feels the rhythmn of the young man's heart on his back as they make their way cautiously across the stepping stones, almost beating a tattoo through his skin and into his own heart. It threatens to envelope his own heartbeat, a funny kind of possession that makes him forget who he was and where he was. Bucky finds himself unable to let go even when the young man raps on his shoulders, telling him to stop walking when he is a few feet away from his house. But he does, and the young man slips from his grasp.

 

"Keep the coat," he finds himself saying, when the young man pushes it intp his hands. "And remember to get yourself dry as soon as you reach home."

 

He watches the retreating back of the young man limping back toward his house, feeling like he lost a little something.

 

And he wasn't talking about the coat.

 

**Friday**

 

For the first time, the young man does not come to the river. Bucky, coatless and restless, stands in the sweeping chill for twenty minutes before pushing himself to go to work.

 

**Saturday**

 

Bucky arrives at the river much later than he would, hoping to be comforted by the sight of the young man, but leaves disappointed once again.

 

**Two weeks later– Thursday.**

 

Bucky stops short on the way back from work. A small figure darts in front of him, and he is greeted by the young man. He looks paler and smaller than he already does, and even the smile on his face looks rather out of place.

 

"I was sick from the shower for two weeks," the young man explains. "I'm still not well yet, but you can have this back first."

 

He offers the coat to Bucky. The bouquet, which he intended to give him on the field that day, has been reduced to mere stalks with their last petals hanging on to their place.

 

"No, you can have it."

 

"Are you sure?"

 

"Yes. I'm sure."

 

**Friday**

 

He shines the pebble which now sits on his study table, beside a framed picture of his mother. The glossy grey and black beams up at him as he tucks his new handkerchief back into his pocket.

 

He hears the front door open, and listens for the heavy footsteps and clanging of keys that announces his father's return from work.

 

"Have you heard?" his father asks.

 

"Heard what?"

 

"That Rogers boy," his father continues, "he died just this morning. Heard it from the Smiths this afternoon."

 

The pebble slips out of his grasp, and falls onto the floor with a dull crack. Bucky watches the two halves that have split along the black streak.

 

"It's the most unfortunate thing, the Rogers just don't seem to have luck on their side at all-- they spent almost all the money on the boy's treatment. It was the doctors who told them to move to the country for some fresh air. Now it seems that family will be moving back to the city... And you know, it was the strangest thing, what that boy said, before he died."

 

"What did he say?"

 

"Apparently he said, if he were to die, he wanted to be buried in the same clothes he always wore," his father said, "with a coat and a bouquet of flowers."


End file.
